


3 & 1

by lydiamrtin



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Arguing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fighting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, bc its janae what do u expect, sometimes there will be excessive profanity, there will be mentions of poussey's death, this all takes place during canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7660753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiamrtin/pseuds/lydiamrtin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3 times Janae Watson rejects Erica Jones' comfort and the one time she accepts it</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Janae’s eyes lock on the nail that Jones handed to her, and she’s momentarily frozen. After what happened to Jones, she’s not sure she’s ready. 

“Don’t you cop out on me now,” Jones says, nudging her shoulder. 

“Back the fuck off, I’m going,” Janae responds with a chuckle, although when she glances at the outlet again her brows furrow. 

“I’m right here; if something happens, I could go get Caputo-”

“What, and have our asses thrown in seg for being out of bounds? No thanks. I can’t go back there.” 

She meant for that last part to sound like some sort of obvious statement, like  _ of course  _ no one would want to go back there, but it comes out as far more personal than she’s comfortable with. 

Jones just stares at her. 

“Look,” Janae begins, desperate to change the subject smoothly, “you were fine. I’ll be too. Just nervous, is all.”

Jones nods, and scoots over to provide some space while Janae kneels right in front of the outlet, gingerly moving the nail closer and closer. She almost gets it,  _ almost, _ but then jerks it away, closing her eyes and shaking her head. 

“Shoulda gone first,” she mutters. 

“You can do it. Come on,” Jones encourages. 

“Yeah. Fuck it.” Without a second’s hesitation, she jams the nail into the socket. It happens in a nanosecond. At the noise of impact, she drops to the floor, unmoving. 

Jones wants to act fast, but she has to wait a few seconds so that the shock doesn’t go through her, as well. 

“Shit.” 

After counting to ten in her head and still seeing no movement, she reaches down and grabs Janae’s shoulders, pulling her up and propping her against the wall. 

“Get up, get up, get the fuck  _ up-”  _ Jones slaps her across the face so hard she hears the echo throughout the chapel pounding at her eardrums. 

She’s suddenly re-acquainted with the white hot anger she felt when she slapped Janae the first time. She remembers the way she fell straight to the ground from the force of it, she remembers the blood dripping from her mouth, she remembers that  _ smirk  _ Janae wore when she stood back up like it was exactly the reaction she had been trying to get. 

Jones’ next move is to shake her, but then Janae startles and gasps for breath, folding her hands behind her head like she does when she runs. Her eyes flutter for a couple seconds before focusing on Jones, who still looks terrified. 

“Shit,” Janae breathes, drawing her legs up and placing her head between them. “Shit.” 

“I told you to be  _ careful _ with it, Jesus! Not ram it in there like you were fucking the thing.” 

Janae bursts out laughing, although it sounds slightly hysterical. 

“It’s not  _ funny, _ Watson! You weren’t breathing . . . For like almost 15 seconds.” 

Janae’s big, brown eyes widen even further, if that’s possible, and she covers her mouth with her hand for a second. 

“Shit, man, no way. You serious?” 

“That’s not something to brag about,” says an astonished Jones. 

“You fuckin’ kidding? I’m just imagining some of the girls’ faces when I tell them about this.” 

“No!” exclaims Jones. “We gotta keep this on the downlow. People will start stealing tools from electrical, and then someone’s gonna get hurt for real. Then who will it be traced back to?” 

A defeated looking Janae nods in agreement. “Damn, you’re  _ right. _ You thought this through, guess you really needed some electro-shock therapy . . . Something on your mind?” 

“Yes, actually, there is . . .” Jones starts. 

Janae gives her that skeptical look she always gives where she raises one eyebrow, and then she gives her a small nod to continue. However, usually when people talk, she only gets to the raised eyebrow part. She’s not much of a people person. 

“Well,” Jones continues, “counselor Healy called me into his office the other week, and he told me that my case was eligible to be opened for possible early release . . .”

She stops and waits for Janae’s reaction, but Janae just motions for her to continue because she suspects there’s more to the story. 

“And, of course, I told him he could look into it as soon as he could . . . So, a few days later, he got back to me, and-” 

Jones rubs her eyes and sighs, hoping Janae would piece it together so she wouldn’t have to spell it out. 

Janae furrows her eyebrows in concern, leaning forward off the wall. 

“They turned you down? Are you serious?” 

She shakes her head and throws her hands down in surrender, leaning back against the wall. 

“The system’s fucked. The whole thing is. You got people in here doing 10 years for crimes they were blackmailed into doing.” 

“It’s not ‘fucked.’ We did crimes, and now we’re doing the time. And anyway, how did those people wind up blackmailed?” Jones challenges. “By doing shit they shouldn’t have done. That’s on them. This place is corrupt as hell, everybody knows that, but everyone in here is a criminal of their own making.” 

“Don’t-” Janae shakes her head- “be sayin’ shit you don’t know about. You don’t know everybody in here. You don’t know the shit they went through.” 

Jones sighs. “At the end of the day, Janae, after you erase any possible complications of doubt, or remorse, people in here made the choices to be criminals.”

Janae feels anger flare in her chest at a white person calling her by her first name, but a fit of laughter takes her hostage before she can deal with the situation. 

_ “That _ is fucking funny, because last I checked, you seemed  _ real  _ keen on calling  _ your _ crime an ‘accident.’”

“I said it was a  _ mistake. _ That doesn’t mean I’m trying to erase that it happened. And this is coming from the girl who treats the entire prison like it owes her for locking her up.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Janae spits, standing up. 

“I told you about how _ I _ got incarcerated, but what about you? What did you do?” 

Janae scoffs with a knowing smile. “I know what you’re doing.” 

“No,” Jones protests. “It’s not like that at all. Just, friend to friend.” 

“Lady, we are not friends,” Janae sneers, stepping closer to her. “Nobody’s my friend in here.” 

“You need people in here, to have your back. You push everyone away, and you’re the one who’s fucked.” 

Janae throws her hands up and chuckles, backing away slightly. 

“No, I get it. You wanna hear my sob story so you can take comfort in the fact that you’re not alone in this hellhole. You need a reminder that other people have it bad, too.”

“I was just trying to-”

_ “Save. _ It,” Janae growls. “Why do you care what I did, everyone’s stories are all the same to you, aren’t they? We’re just criminals who made the choices ourselves, right?”

“You’re angry. Because you don’t think it’s fair that you got caught. You had a real life ahead of you.” 

“What kind of ignorant ass bullshit is  _ that?” _ Janae snarls. “Everybody in here had a fucking life ahead of them.” 

“You need to accept that it was your fault, not the system’s, that you winded up in here. Blaming the world for your problems isn’t gonna solve them. You can’t come to terms with what you did until you take responsibility for your actions. And if you keep pushing your feelings away, you’re going to get angrier and angrier until you land yourself down the hill with added time. Is that what you want? Because if so, then be my fucking guest.” 

Janae feels tears in the back of her eyes, so she dries them the only way she knows how. 

“You listen to me right now,” she says lowly, dangerously, stepping closer to her. “You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I’m allowed to feel, or how I’m supposed to ‘deal with my problems.’ You don’t know shit about me, or my life. Now I suggest you get the  _ fuck _ outta my face before I  _ show  _ you just how angry I can get.”

Jones nods. “Guess that answers that question, then. . .Well, um, I’m thinking of resuming my regular yoga class schedule. You should come by, Watson. I really think it would help you.” 

She turns around and walks out of the chapel. 

Janae slides back down the wall, biting her lip. She sees the nail lying on the ground, so she picks it up, twiddling it around in her fingers. As much as she’d like to keep it, she knows her ass would go straight back to SHU as soon as the COs conducted their next bunk inspection. 

“Fucking bitch,” she mutters, before tossing the nail and hearing it land somewhere between one of the rows of chairs. 

Janae’s not sure whether she’s angrier because Jones thought she could assume parts of her life and then try to tell her what’s what, or because, deep down, she knows she’s right. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, guys! I'd really appreciate some feedback, commentary means a lot to me! Next chapter coming soon. I really love the dynamic of these characters, and I wish we got to see more of their friendship on screen. also i love my sassy bby janae and she needs to be protected at all costs, ok??  
> Also, if any of you are interested, I'd love it if you checked out my other oitnb wop [Desire](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7406341) it's a nichorello fanfic bc i ship them like.. really hard. and they give me too many feels. yeah. thats all. so please please please drop a comment, it would literally make my entire day. thank you! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Jones could have sworn her entire face lit up when Janae shuffled into her yoga class a minute late wearing grey sweats and a timid smile. 

The girls approached each other until they were standing face to face. Surprisingly, it was Janae who stuck her hand out first. They silently shook hands, because no words were needed. 

“It’s great to have you, Watson,” Jones said with a smile. 

“Yeah,” she said quietly. She went over to the far corner and set her mat down, giving Jones one last nod of understanding. 

 

…

 

Jones doesn’t like the smirk that Ramos girl gives Janae when handing her her tray. 

“So, can you see if Red can get that good face cream? The one they don’t sell in commissary no more? You and her are real tight, right?” Janae asks as Jones gets handed her tray and they move down the line. 

Jones looks at her. 

“She’s a business woman. I do what I  _ can.” _

“Well, tell her I’ll do what  _ I _ can to get those noodles from commissary I’ve seen her heat up in the microwave.” 

“I’m sure she’d appreciate those,” Jones says with a smile. “But ever since Red’s been out of the kitchen, she hasn’t been able to bring anything else in.” 

“Damn, for real?” Janae closes her eyes and tosses her head back. “Fucking figures . . . Guess it’s no wonder she’s been so down in the dumps, then.” 

“You should talk to Sophia. I’m sure she has something,” Jones suggests. 

“Who, the tranny that’ll fix up my weave for half a can of pepsi?” 

“The t- Jesus, Watson!” 

Janae bursts laughing as she grabs her cup, but then stops when she sees Jones’ expression. “C’mon, I’m just playin.”

“It’s too early,” Jones mutters, grabbing her cup and walking away to find a seat, which sends Janae into another fit of giggles. 

“What do you want, a coffee pot?” she calls after Jones.

Jones sits down at a table nearby, shaking her head because even without Janae’s thoughtless commentary that seems to comply to no barriers of time, it’s just too damn early. 

It’s also too early for her to witness what happens in the next few minutes, but Jones knows she sacrificed the luxury of decent sleep the instant she pulled the trigger on that little boy. 

It all happens so fast. 

Janae and her friends were given extra salty trays, probably because someone must’ve pulled something on the Spanish girls. Janae expresses indignation at being grouped with her friends, so when Dayanara Diaz walks by, she demands she give her a new tray. When Diaz refuses and tells her that she “gets what she gets,” Janae sticks her foot out and trips her, sending her tumbling down. 

Jones is out of her seat and rushing over before Daya even hits the ground, urging Janae to calm down, but officer Bennett is already reaching for her, grabbing her from behind, and throwing her down on the ground, holding her there and shouting at her that she “cannot do that.”

“He can’t do that, can he do that?” Jones exclaims incredulously to officer Bell, who’s leaning against the wall eyeing the commotion, but Bell ignores her. 

Bennett threatens Janae with an escort to maximum security, which Jones knows is far too severe a punishment for such a minor violation, and revokes her commissary for a month. Then he leaves her to go tend to Daya, so Bell goes over to pull her up, Jones quickly following suit to help. 

“I can take it from here,” she tells officer Bell, linking arms with Janae who’s practically vibrating with anger. 

“Suit yourself,” Bell says to Jones before letting go of Janae. 

“And I think this goes without saying, but that’s a fucking shot, Watson.” 

Janae almost jumps out of Jones’ grip. “For what?  _ She _ gave-”

_ “Okay,” _ Jones interrupts, flashing her a warning look before returning her gaze to Bell. “Won’t happen again.”

“Right. Hope for your sake it doesn’t,” Bell growls, and then she stalks off. 

“Watson, are you trying to go back to the SHU? What’s the matter with you?” Jones whisper-shouts to Janae as she leads her away from the cafeteria and down the hallway by the stairwell. 

“With  _ me? _ Those racist motherfuckers think they can fuck with  _ my _ food when I didn’t even do nothin’? And then that fucking guard throws  _ me _ on the ground?”

“Hey, hey . . .” Jones tries to soften her tone.

“Just try to breathe.  _ Calm _ thoughts.” She places a soothing hand on her shoulder. 

“There’s nothing you can do about it now. You should try talking to your friends; tell them to back down on whatever it is they’re doing.”

Janae shakes her head and purses her lips, folding her arms in front of her chest. “I can’t do nothin’ about that, yo. They’re in war with the Spanish girls now; ain’t no one gonna stop ‘til someone goes down for real.” 

“Violence is  _ not _ the solution here. We both know that. Your friends need to look at the bigger picture and realize that they could be putting someone in real danger playing this game.” 

Janae sighs. “That’s half the fun for them, is letting someone else take the fall.”

“Are they all really like that?” Jones asks in dismay. 

Janae actually has to pause and think on that. “I don’t know . . . But Vee’s gonna take care of this; those racist Spanish girls won’t know what’s coming.” 

“I understand you’re upset, but don’t you think you gave up most of your rights to play the racism card when you called Chapman a ‘Taylor Swift ass motherfucker’ when you guys first got here?” Jones asks her with a smirk. 

Janae can’t help but let a little smile slip at that remark. “Come on, you gotta get with me on that one. Some days I’ll see Chapman and expect her to start singing ‘You Belong with Me’ or some shit.” She doubles over in laughter, effectively cracking herself up for the second time that morning. 

“And when I called you ‘string cheese’! Oh, man . . .” 

“Yeah huh. That’s  _ really _ funny,” Jones huffs with a roll of her eyes. 

“Look, I know those girls shouldn’t have put you with your friends, but you really should find better ways to express your anger.” 

Janae scoffs and shakes her head. “That bitch deserved it.”

“Watson, they took away your commissary . . . There’s no commissary in SHU.” 

Janae chuckles resentfully. “Really, I had no idea,” she scoffs sarcastically. 

“You’re gonna need some things,” Jones says. 

Janae opens her mouth to cut her off, but Jones continues, “We could meet up after work sometime this week so I could give you some of-”

“Nah,” Janae declines, almost too quickly. “I mean, I appreciate it, but . . . I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” Jones argues carefully. 

“It’s okay,” Janae says, but it sounds empty. “I’m not- it’d be- thanks, though.” She’s stumbling over her words, and Jones notices she’s inching away from her and closer towards the stairs. 

“I gotta get going for work . . . I’ll see you on the flip side, though, kay?” 

Janae gives her the smallest smile before disappearing around the corner to go downstairs, although it’s not really a smile. Hardly anything’s genuine in here, and since Jones can’t exactly say she’s an exception to the rule, she accepts Janae’s smile and returns an equally hollow one. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love the idea of Jones wanting to help Janae after she gets her commissary taken away, bc a month's a long time when everything's a privilege except for food and water D: please drop a comment, it would make me rly happy:) next part coming soon! In the mean time, please keep up with me on my [tumblr](http://lysdia.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter is told mostly in past tense bc it's a reflection. Then it switches back to present tense and resumes the linear progression of the story

Janae remembers the first time she got sent down to the SHU. 

Actually, getting sent would be putting it lightly. She more accurately remembers CO Donaldson’s tight grip on her arms as he dragged her kicking, shouting form out of the electrical warehouse. She remembers continuing to cuss him out and struggle in his grip until he barked at her to be quiet and slapped a pair of handcuffs on her. She was practically shoved into the van, and she knows it’ll be a while before she forgets that inquisitive and somehow also all-knowing look Lorna Morello gave her out of the rearview mirror. 

“Going to seg already, Watson?” Morello asked her as she started the van, trying to sound surprised, but Janae along with the rest of the prison knew that she was about as passively racist as they came. 

“Well . . . Don’t worry too much. It’s just a coupl’a weeks, and then you’ll be back here safe and sound. Just remember to drink  _ all _ the water they give you. Three cups a day is less than you think. And-”

“I don’t need your fucking help, white girl,” Janae seethed. 

“Shut up!” Donaldson snarled, making her jump and mutter a strand of curses under her breath. 

“Less talking, more driving.” 

Janae, at this point, would have been wringing her hands in an effort to stay calm, a nervous tick of hers in situations of high stress, but since Donaldson had put her in shackles, she settled for bouncing her leg up and down. She couldn’t sit still. 

She remembers that patronizing look Morello gave her as Donaldson helped her out of the van. 

“See you soon, hun,” she said, wearing a small smile. 

Donaldson slammed the doors shut before Janae had the chance to tell her to go fuck herself. Then he turned his attention to her. 

“I can take those off, if you think you can behave.” 

Of course, the concept of behavior at this point was ironic- she was, after all, being thrown in solitary confinement for misbehaving. 

She just stared at him. She couldn’t nod. She couldn’t, but she had to. So she did. 

“Okay. Good.” He removed the handcuffs, which she immediately reacted to by rubbing her wrists and glaring at him. 

“Now let’s move it, inmate.”

She remembers walking down into the building, turning around a few times only to have Donaldson give her a push forward. She remembers automatically slowing down once they had reached the too brightly lit hallway of cells, but Donaldson only barked at her to “keep it moving.” 

She remembers how she demanded to know answers as they neared her cell, asking how long she’d be in and why she was taking the fall for someone else’s theft. When they reached hers, she grew frantic, insisting again that Luschek was a drunk and that she could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“Shut up!” Donaldson roared. “Now, don’t make me push you in there; have some fucking dignity and walk in yourself.” 

Janae taking her first steps into her cell was the first time she felt something other than anger or annoyance during her stay. She jumped at the loud clank the door made when it closed. 

It didn’t dawn on her what exactly she had gotten herself into until she searched around her cell for something, anything, to do, just to find nothing. She walked over to her “bed,” which was quite a generous word to describe this flat, scratchy, blanket free mattress, and put her head in her hands. She’d really done it now. 

Even in this tight space, Janae would be damned if she let this place swipe her muscular physique out from under her. Every day, several times a day, she would engage in various exercises ranging from running in place to wall sits to sets of pushups. She heeded Morello’s advice and drank all the water they gave her, but it still wasn’t enough. Almost every night she’d curl up with a parched throat on her hard, narrow strip of a bed. 

If she didn’t want to grow weak with malnutrition, she’d have to plug her nose and force down the food they gave her, which ended up proving even more difficult to keep down.

She recalls when, shortly after her return, Jones remarked how she was “channelling her feelings through physical activity,” which was exactly what she did in SHU. The second she paused and thought about how she was locked in a cell and deprived of almost all her personal freedoms, she’d feel white hot resentment simmering in her blood. All the burpees in the world couldn’t have completely relinquished her anger, but they helped. At least the exercise was keeping her from losing her mind. 

When Janae was released, she took a few minutes to revel in the comforts of minimum security, and she promised herself that she’d keep her head down and do her time without any more conflict with the guards. 

It’s hard for her now to call to mind the exact moment she stopped lying to herself and started coming to terms with the risks she was taking involving herself in Vee’s game. 

She wishes she could forget the second time she went to SHU.

She wasn’t going to  _ keep _ the tampon box of cigarettes in her bunk- she really wasn’t. She was counting the number she had and was preparing to go sell. 

But when she heard, “Yo, it’s a sweep. They sweeping!” she could have sworn she felt her heart in her throat. She fumbled with the box, barely having enough time to shove it along with a towel behind her cabinet before the guards were yelling at them to stand outside their bunks. 

She was powerless to watch as the COs swept the cubicles for contraband, getting closer and closer. She remembers the look her bunkmate Poussey gave her when CO Donaldson began searching their bunk. Poussey’s eyes diverted to the corner where Janae had hidden the cigarettes, and she shook her head ever so slightly. 

What happened after was like slow motion. Donaldson found the box of tampons and pulled out a couple cigs. 

“Jackpot!” he shouted, and Janae felt her blood run cold. Every word he spoke after that only heightened her anxiety, and when he asked her if she had herself a little business, she automatically responded with “No, sir,” thinking there was maybe some way she could still talk herself out of it, even though deep down she knew there wasn’t. No one did anything to get her put away this time; this one was on her for not keeping the box hidden somewhere outside the dorms. 

That only angered him. “Don’t you ‘No, sir’ me! You start marching your pretty black ass to the SHU. I know how much you love it in there. Move!”

He didn’t wait for her to listen to his command before he grabbed her arm and began tugging her along, which forced her to get into step with him. 

She looked with misty eyes towards Vee, to send her some sort of silent apology for not being more careful. The COs would come to the conclusion that this was not a one-woman business, and all they’d have to do was look in the direction of the people Janae hung out with before single handedly annihilating the entire operation. 

Vee’s gaze was locked straight ahead, not on her or even Donaldson. 

Janae wouldn’t normally consider herself a person who kept others’ best interests close at heart, but there was no other way to describe the tightness in her chest besides good, old fashioned guilt. 

“I’ll take that,” said CO Maxwell. Donaldson tossed her the box of cigarettes. Janae, all too familiar with Maxwell’s smoking habits, suspected that they’d be gone sometime within the next few days. 

She had a few moments to make eye contact with Jones, who looked appalled and worried for her, before she was led out of the dormitories. 

“Aren’t gonna struggle this time, are we?” Donaldson growled in her ear, making her wince. She held her tongue and kept walking. 

When they stepped outside, Janae stiffened at the cold, but she’d be damned if she stopped to ask him for a jacket. She complied to Donaldson’s orders, wordlessly climbing into the van and sitting quietly, even when Lorna Morello clambered into the driver’s seat and gave her another one of those looks. 

“SHU? Again? Guess you really learn things around here the hard way, Watson,” Morello chuckled.

Janae leaned back in her seat and sighed, averting her gaze from Morello. 

“Well, seeing as you’ve already been, I guess there’s no use telling you about the  _ showers,” _ Morello drawled in her thick Brooklyn accent. 

Janae closed her eyes. 

“I myself have never gone to seg, but when almost  _ all _ your friends have gone down, lots of them more than once, you learn a thing or two,” Morello continued, like she thought Janae was actually interested in what she had to say and not, in fact, trying to the best of her abilities to block her out. 

It was strange, how Janae wanted the car ride to be over so she could escape Morello’s ramblings, and how she also didn’t. 

As soon as she entered the building, she knew for a fact she shouldn’t have let Morello get to her and instead should have savored her last few moments of relative peace. She walked silently and without a fight, Donaldson following closely behind. When they reached her cell, it was all she could do to not give in and start crying. She stepped in without a word and made eye contact with Donaldson one last time before the door was slid shut. 

The instant she was granted complete privacy, her face crumpled and she slid down the wall, crying as quietly as she could until she couldn’t cry anymore. 

It could have been minutes or hours that passed before she was fetched to go take a shower. She stood up slowly, eyes red and tired. The correctional officer’s face softened slightly when she took in Janae’s state, but she stuck her hand out nonetheless. 

“Rubber band, inmate.” 

“What?” Janae’s voice came out gravelly and hoarse. 

The CO sighed. “Your hair tie. It’s contraband.” 

Janae’s hands automatically went to her hair, feeling for the rubber band. “You serious?” 

The officer didn’t move. She waited. 

Janae pulled it from her hair with ease and thrust it out for the CO to take. She took the hair tie, stuffed it in her pocket, and motioned for Janae to follow her out. 

“Let’s go.” 

The way Janae kept track of time this time around couldn’t have been more different from last time. Last time, she’d count by the day by adding every morning she woke up. Time was a key component in her motivation to remain physically active last time, along with her anger that “the world had done her wrong”, as Jones had put it.

To this day she’s still uncertain whether Jones was referring to just her being sent to the SHU for a theft that went unsolved, or to her prison sentence as a whole. She’s also not sure whether Jones meant that she merely  _ believes _ that the world did her wrong, or that it actually did. 

This time, Janae lost track of the days, and once she lost track, she didn’t get it back. She forgot how long she’d been in, and she forgot how much time she had left. Sometimes they’d collect her to take her to the showers, but that wasn’t a daily occurrence. At least, it didn’t feel like it. She decided she’d have to ask someone what day it was when she returned to Litchfield so that she could resume counting down the months until she got out. 

She didn’t want to exercise; she wasn’t angry this time. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t; her unkempt hair would get all in her face. She had no reason to stay energized, so when they brought her food, she didn’t eat it. 

She remembers only drinking water for an indefinite amount of time, until fatigue eventually set in and she ached everywhere. The feeling she got when she blinked back into consciousness after having blacked out was one she never wanted to experience again. She could have been out for seconds, minutes, or hours. She would never know. 

So she resorted to one “meal” a day, even though at that point in time she’d lost track of when the days started and ended. It was nowhere near pleasant, on the contrary barely manageable, but she could handle it. 

She was on the ground, leaning against the wall, trying to will the pain in her stomach away when a CO opened her cell door to escort her back to Litchfield. She stood up too fast, which still wasn’t very fast, and almost fell over. 

“Move it, inmate,” the CO ordered with a roll of his eyes. 

Janae sucked in a breath and folded her arms, beginning to walk while blinking her eyes a couple times to focus her vision. Her body could have sang with relief when they reached the van despite the rather short walk, and she sat down, leaning against the window and closing her eyes. 

“Hey, Watson! Welcome back,” Janae heard Morello’s cheery voice greet from behind the wheel. Janae opened her eyes and just stared at her. 

Morello paused. “Sheesh . . . Hope they didn’t beat you down too much . . . Question, is the cold real bad down there? I know you guys don’t get blankets. And it’s been  _ really _ cold in our bunks at night. Is it at least warm enough there so that you can sleep?” 

Janae continued staring. 

Lorna looked at her through the rearview mirror for a moment before turning the van. “Okay. You’re not in a talking kinda mood. I get it.” 

“Morello, just be quiet and drive,” said an irritated Maxwell from the passenger seat. 

Then Janae remembered. “Hey, Morello. What day is it today?”

“Oh, honey. It’s Sunday.” 

No one chose to speak again after that. Janae sighed and closed her eyes again, relishing her last few moments for a very long time of peace and quiet. 

…

Getting back into the swing of things at Litchfield proves to be difficult for her. In one afternoon she manages to not only snap when Cindy keeps insisting she has a “special cell” in SHU with her name written on it, but also completely severs ties with Jones when she confesses that Janae’s sentencing to seg motivated her to join the hunger strike that’s apparently occurring. She hears at lunch about that hunger strike that Jones and some of the other white girls are conducting, and the thought makes her sick. These girls are starving themselves for no legitimate reason, and here she is unable to eat a thing because the mere smell of food makes her nauseous. 

She’s at dinner debating whether she should try eating her sandwich when Poussey slides into the seat across from her. 

“Yo, Watson, you’re back!” she exclaims animatedly. Janae looks up and flashes her a small smile. 

_ “Damn, _ you’re gonna have some stories to tell when you get outta here. You got a serious set of balls, keeping that shit in our bunk.” 

“Guess I gotta be more careful from now on,” Janae replies. 

“Wait, hold up, from  _ now on?” _ Poussey looks affronted. “You’re not seriously gonna go back to that after what just happened to you?”

“That wasn’t Vee’s fault.” 

Poussey’s expression darkens after Janae says that. 

“They’re not just selling cigs anymore. They got real shit,” Poussey says in a lowered voice. Janae feels her eyes widen and inhales a small gasp. 

“You for real?” 

“If any of them get caught for carrying, their asses are gonna get shipped off to max for the next decade. J, don’t even  _ think _ about getting caught up in that shit. I already tried talking some sense into T, but they’re mad convinced Vee’ll save them before she’ll save herself.”

_ “Shit _ . . . P, she got drugs?”

Poussey nods.

Janae sighs. “I gotta get in on that. She didn’t even  _ do _ nothing to me, so you can’t assume that about her. And don’t try to tell me if you were in her shoes you would’ve stepped up, either.” 

Poussey’s eyebrows furrow. “Then both of us would’ve gone down. Don’t you remember what happened to Taystee last time Vee promised to look out for her?”

“Vee explained that one through. At the time, her ass would’ve been carted off right away had she not gone into hiding. She thought she was making the smartest move.” 

Poussey glowered at her. “Sounds a lot like an excuse to me.”

“P. I made a  _ mistake. _ That don’t mean I shouldn’t get a chance to make some real money. I barely got a penny to my name; I need this.”

“If you don’t think she’ll send your ass down to max the second she needs to save her own skin you’re dead wrong,” Poussey says darkly. “Y’all are just pawns in her game, and as soon as you ain’t useful to her no more, you’re out. So if you wanna go get yourself kicked down the hill, then I can’t stop you. But I can’t be responsible for that.”

Janae knows exactly where she’s heard those words before. Last time someone told her that they couldn’t carry the burden of her unwise decisions and their potentially catastrophic consequences, she got herself arrested for armed robbery and sentenced to Litchfield.

She doesn’t know how to respond to Poussey’s words, so she settles for staring at the food on her tray she knows she’s not going to eat. 

“And you really should eat something, J,” Poussey says softly. “You don’t look so good.”

Janae scoffs and shakes her head. “Not hungry. I’m just tired.”

Poussey raises her eyebrows and chuckles dryly. “Well, I’d be feelin’ pretty beat, too, if I hadn’t eaten anything but moldy scraps for the past few weeks.” 

Before Janae can respond, she eyes Jones approaching their table, looking like she’s hiding something under her shirt. When she reaches them, she stands over by Janae and does a quick scan around the cafeteria. Janae rotates towards her and gives Jones her signature, one-raised-eyebrow, “the fuck you want?” look. 

Jones slides her hand under her shirt, pulls out a small container, and sets it down next to Janae’s tray. It’s the face cream she wanted a while back. Janae gasps, eyes sparkling with delight. She quickly slides it under the table into her lap. 

“No fucking way. Where did you get this?”

Jones smirks. “Red’s got her ways.”

Janae nods in approval. “What does she want for this?” 

“No.” Jones shakes her head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s on the house. I know these past few weeks have probably been pretty rough for you. I didn’t have the chance to give it to you earlier, so . .”

What happened was Janae didn’t  _ give _ her the chance to. 

“Come on,” she says before she can think about that too much. “You know I don’t take gifts. What do you want?”

Jones glances at her. “I want you to eat something. Just do that. For me.” 

Janae’s speechless. 

Jones nods politely at Poussey before walking away. 

“What the fuck . . .” Poussey’s in awe. “Man, you better eat something now that Namaste Lady’s on your back.”

“She ain’t on my back,” says Janae. “She’s just trying to be nice.”

“Hey, real talk.” Poussey’s expression is serious again. “Where the fuck did Red get the cream?” 

… 

Jones is in her bunk, reading her book, when she sees Janae lingering outside, almost looking like she’s afraid to come in. Her previously disheveled hair is once again neatly pulled back in a hair tie. 

“You got a sec?” she asks. 

Jones gives her a soft smile and nods. 

Janae walks in, looks around, and then pulls the face cream out from her shirt. She holds it out to Jones. “I can’t take this.” 

Jones raises an eyebrow. “Okay. Well, now I feel insulted because you don’t want it.” 

“It ain’t like that. I just can’t have anyone doing me favors in here.” 

“Watson.” Jones extends her hand holding the cream. “Just take it. If you really don’t want it, then give it to your friend Poussey. She looked pretty intrigued.”

This only frustrates Janae more. She pushes the cream back at Jones. “Why are you being so nice to me? I already told you, I’m not going to be the alleviator for whatever guilt you got hoisted on your shoulders.”

“If you want to keep pretending that you and I are so different, then that’s cool, because deep down I think you know we aren’t. I look at you, and I see myself when I first came to prison. When I first got here, I didn’t think it was fair I was locked up. And I didn’t have anybody looking out for me. I didn’t want the same for you.” 

She holds out the cream again. “Take care of yourself. And stay out of trouble.” 

An incredulous Janae takes it while shaking her head. 

“Yeah. I’ll see you ‘round.” 

She gives Jones one last fleeting glance before she leaves the cubicle. Jones watches her go, shaking her head as she picks back up her book. She knows that Vee and her girls are dealing, and she knows it’s only a matter of when, not if, Janae gets involved. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to drop a comment, I love feedback! :) In the mean time, find me on [tumblr!](http://nickymorello.tumblr.com)  
> Also, I just put up the [2nd chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7406341/chapters/18045544) of [Desire](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7406341/chapters/16821916)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who knows the ins and outs and nitty-gritty of oitnb like I do, you’ve been warned that I altered canon slightly in this chapter so that instead of Jones staying up in her room the entire time, she comes out of her little bubble to talk to Janae <3 Okay without further ado, here’s the last chapter!

“Great. All we’ve got is _time!”_

In that moment, Janae feels herself breaking. She’s bent over from the force of her anguish, and tears fall from her eyes. She feels Cindy rubbing soothing circles into her back and shushing her softly, which only makes it harder for her to keep her composure. 

Cindy suggests that Abdullah lower her hijab, and she complies. 

Abdullah’s short, bright red hair is revealed, and it immediately proceeds to evoke hysterical laughter from Cindy and Janae, who also somehow manage to spew out jeers such as “raggedy Anne nap” and “Ariel.” 

Abdullah shakes her head at them and mutters a strand of curses before leaving them and returning to the shaded picnic tables with all the gifts people have been sending. 

The smile quickly dissipates from Cindy’s face, and she wipes her eyes. “Shit, man,” she croaks with a sniffle. 

“Come on,” Janae murmurs gently, placing a hand on her shoulder and walking her back to the tables. 

They sit down across from Abdullah, who’s going through some of the stuff. She looks up at them, noticing how close together they’re sitting and how Janae has one arm casually hanging off Cindy’s shoulder. 

“I hardly knew her,” Abdullah starts, twiddling with a folded up piece of paper, probably containing some hollow, generic note expressing someone’s sorrow for their loss.

“Hey,” Cindy interrupts, putting her hand up to halt where she suspects Abdullah was going to go with the conversation. 

“Now, you didn’t know her as  _ long _ as we did, but you still knew her. You still got just as much of a right as the rest of us to grieve.” 

Abdullah sighs before nodding. 

“Who  _ doesn’t _ have the right to grieve is that murderous, death-dealing guard,” snarls Janae, removing her arm from Cindy’s shoulder and gripping the wooden table. 

“And if he even _ tries  _ to act like this shit was an accident, like it was anything but cold blooded  _ murder,  _ then I’ll fucking kill him myself.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” Cindy tells her lowly. 

Janae scoffs at her, furrowing her brows in indignation. 

“How much time did she have left?” Abdullah asks quietly, delicately, like she was afraid to even have asked. 

Janae closes her eyes and exhales. 

“At least three more years,” Cindy answers softly, dejected. “I don’t even know exactly how much . . . Her sentence wasn’t even halfway over yet.” 

“Jesus . . .” Abdullah bites her lip and looks up. “Shit.” 

“Fuck,” Cindy mutters. “Do you guys realize . . . She never got to take her first breath of fresh, free air . . . She never got to wear real clothes again . . .”

“Stop,” Janae says weakly. 

Cindy closes her eyes. “The  _ last thing _ she saw. Was the cold, hard floor of that cafeteria. She never got to leave this fucking place.” 

“Shut the  _ fuck _ up.” Janae feels a tear roll down her cheek. 

“We know, Hayes,” Abdullah says softly, glancing at Janae. “It’s fucked up.” 

“Do you guys think . . .” Janae sniffs and rubs her eyes, “we should put together like, a real memorial for her?”

“Yeah,” Cindy agrees. “We all know she’d do it for any of us.” 

“We can talk to Taystee when she decides to take a break from work,” Janae offers. 

“It might be a while, then,” chimes in Abdullah. “Poor girl needs a distraction from her own thoughts right now.” 

“Fuck, ain’t that the truth,” Cindy mutters bitterly. 

“She shouldn’t be  _ distracted,” _ Janae argues. “She out of all of us should be trying to do something because Caputo hasn’t done  _ shit.” _

She chuckles dryly as she gestures to their pile of gifts from the other inmates. “Look at all this shit. White folks are just happy it ain’t one of  _ them _ that got smashed into the ground. Like they ever had anything to fucking worry about.”

Cindy turns toward her, reeling in her frustration so she doesn’t lash out. 

“Well, you can’t blame ‘em. Don’t even  _ try _ sitting here and telling me your ass wouldn’t be  _ damn _ well relieved if some white hillbilly was bumped off instead and our girl was still sitting next to us safe and sound.” 

“I wouldn’t pretend to feel sorry for them. They’ve got some kind of fucked up survivor’s guilt going on.” 

“We weren’t the only ones that knew her,” Cindy reminds her. “She had other friends in here. I know she and Judy King were real buddy-buddy, after she and China Doll made it right.” 

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Abdullah asks apprehensively. 

“Who, Judy King?” responds a surprised Cindy. 

Abdullah gives her one of her signature looks.  _ “Soso.”  _

“I don’t know,” says Janae honestly. “She has a history of . . . Reacting to things badly.” 

“So does Crazy Eyes,” Cindy adds.  _ “Maybe _ they’ll be friends now.” She nods in approval at her own theory. 

“Mhm,” agrees Janae. “She’s gonna need some.” 

“And  _ we _ need to find that hooch,” Cindy says, eyes widening in urgency. 

No one disagrees. 

“I know you don’t appreciate all this stuff, Watson,” Abdullah addresses her as she gathers some of the candy bars from the pile of gifts, “but  _ some _ of us know to take a fucking snickers bar when it’s offered to us.” 

Cindy stands up and helps her. “We really should give some of this to China Doll. And the  _ rest  _ I’m keepin’ for myself.” 

“We should check the library,” offers Abdullah, standing up as well and stepping over the bench. 

“Yeah. Watson, you coming?” Cindy asks. 

“Nah,” Janae replies. “I need some time to myself.” 

Cindy and Abdullah exchange a look before Cindy says, “Alright, suit yourself.” 

They walk off, and Janae hears Cindy complain to Abdullah that the food keeps slipping in her hands, and that they “should’ve dragged Janae along” just so she could “help carry shit.” 

Janae can’t help but smile to herself at that. 

She’s barely had two seconds of peace and quiet before she hears someone approaching her. She looks up, and it’s Jones, carrying a few fruit cups that were served at breakfast, a breakfast Janae couldn’t bring herself to eat, because why should she, when Poussey’s still lying on the ground in the cafeteria like some stain that no one wants to clean up? 

Jones sets the fruit cups on the table next to Janae. “Hey, Watson. Red and her girls send their condolences. We’re really sorry for your loss.” 

Janae nods, biting her lip. “Why does everyone keep saying ‘our loss’? Like  _ we’re  _ the ones that got the raw end of the deal?” 

Jones eyes her. “What are you talking about?” 

“This was  _ her _ loss. Ain’t important what  _ we _ think.  _ She’s  _ the one that got kicked, not us.”

Jones sits down on the bench. “I think you’re dissociating your feelings from the situation. It’s a coping mechanism that dulls emotional pain. Don’t think I don’t know that trick.” 

Janae sighs. “Am I supposed to be thanking you? Like these are gonna make everything alright?”

She shakes her head to answer her own question. “Fruit cups ain’t gonna bring her back, Namaste.” 

“That hooch she gave us didn’t bring Tricia back, either,” Jones reminds her bitterly. “It was out of respect. Now, I know what happened to her was the farthest thing from fair, but we’re all doing the best we can with very limited resources to express our sorrow for her passing.” 

“Ain’t no passing,” scoffs Janae. “It wasn’t nearly her time to go.” 

Jones looks at her sympathetically. “Well, of course not.”

“She had real plans for after she was supposed to get outta here, did y’know that?” 

“No . . .” Jones is simultaneously surprised and resigned. 

“That pal of yours Judy King hooked her up with a real chef’s job. She was gonna ball pretty hard after getting out of here, as far as ex-cons go.” 

“Oh, no, that’s just . . . I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t gotta be sorry.”

“It’s-That’s something people say when someone they know is grieving,” Jones explains. “I’m not accepting responsibility; I’m offering sympathy.”

“It shouldn’t have been her,” Janae blurts out before she can stop herself. “She’s too damn good for this place.” 

“Everyone’s too good for this place. It shouldn’t have been anyone.” 

“It  _ especially _ shouldn’t have been her. That girl was  _ good  _ . . . Better than any of us. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body.” Janae runs a hand through her hair. “It should’ve been one of those white Nazi bitches . . .” She pauses and looks at Jones for a second. “No offense.” 

“No . . .” Jones quickly looks behind herself and then lowers her voice. That’s actually pretty spot on. Those girls are going around, verbally terrorizing inmates of color. If they keep trying to make waves, then it’s gonna come back to them sooner or later.” 

“Yeah, someone needs to teach them a lesson,” says Janae, furrowing her brows. “Those string beans can come at me; I can take any of ‘em any day.”

“You know, there are better ways to conduct your anger than through physical violence.” 

Janae sighs. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture today.” 

“And I’m not giving you one,” Jones shoots right back. “Just remember that you don’t have to hit somebody to lessen your pain. Catering to aggressive tendencies will form bad habits.”

Janae’s hand is still sore from when she slapped that blonde girl earlier, but she deems it best not to tell Jones about that. 

“Are you guys gonna put together, like, a memorial or something for her?” Jones asks, trying to be delicate. 

“Yeah,” Janae responds quickly, nodding in an attempt to fend off thoughts coming with the word “memorial.” 

“We’re thinking about putting something together for her real soon.” 

“I’d love to come. I’m sure Red and some of her girls would, too.” 

“Alright, that’s cool. I’ll let you guys know when we have it. If we do.” 

“Okay, thanks. So, um . . . You think things are gonna change around here now?” Jones asks. 

“Hell no,” Janae answers swiftly. “The guards are trying to sweep this under the rug as fast as possible. Those corrupt, racist pigs have no respect for human life.” 

“No, they don’t. I’m sorry you have to go through this. She was a good person.” 

“Don’t be sorry for me,” Janae says, if slightly exasperated. “Be sorry for  _ her,  _ ‘cause she never got to live her real life again. That murdering guard needs to go down for this, for stealing her chance at becoming a person again.”

“I am very sorry for her,” explains Jones patiently. “But you also have the right to feel affected by his actions.”

Janae puts her head in her hands, unable to respond. 

“Did you hear that Judy King’s getting out?” Jones asks abruptly, startling Janae out of her silence. 

“They’re gonna smuggle her out, right in the middle of all this . . . She doesn’t seem to be a bit sorry for that poor girl.” Jones shakes her head. “I thought she was a better person.” 

“You for real?” Janae’s brown eyes are flashing with fury. “The fucking nerve of them . . . I’m not even surprised. But you gotta give her the fact that anyone would take the chance to get out of this fucking hellhole.”

Jones can’t argue with her on that one. “Yeah. Well . . .” She stands up. “I don’t want to bother you too much; I’m sure you need some space to grieve. But don’t hesitate to come find us if you need anything.” 

“Nah, man, you can stay. If you want,” Janae finds herself saying. It’s taken until now for her to realize that she really doesn’t want to be alone right now. 

Jones looks surprised, but shrugs in acceptance. “Alright. I don’t have anywhere to be right now.” She sits back down. 

“Hey, I was wondering . . . Where do you think would be a good place to have the memorial?” Janae asks. 

“Maybe over by the remains of the garden?” offers Jones. “It’s a nice, quiet spot, and I doubt anyone’s gonna be working over there any time soon, considering it’s still a  crime scene.” 

“A crime scene . . .” Janae scoffs, feeling her eyes moisten again. “This entire situation’s a fucking crime scene.” 

“I know. But we don’t have a lot of options.” 

“Hey . . . I think I got an idea.” Janae’s face brightens ever so slightly. “We should have it over behind the library where she used to hide her hooch.” 

_ “That’s _ where she hid it?” Jones exclaims, eyes widening, coaxing a small laugh from Janae. 

“The meth heads would always look  _ everywhere _ for that stuff! It’s just been back there the whole time?” 

Janae bursts out laughing, stomping her foot on the ground. “Yeah. And don’t you tell ‘em nothin’, neither! I swear to god those fucking hicks act like they’re drunk half the time as it is.” 

“They’d spend hours searching for it, getting consecutively more frustrated as time ticked by,” Jones chuckles. 

“Man, did you ever see P on that shit?” Janae asks, getting that dreamy, nostalgic look again. “She wouldn’t be able to tell night from day . . . That was some of the funniest shit I’ve ever seen in my life. Til Taystee started hiding her shit because she was drinking too much, and she started making animal traps because she thought a squirrel had taken it.” 

Janae gets caught in another fit of laughter, which effectively eases some of the tightness in her chest for the time being. 

So they sit and laugh together, and then slowly drift into a peaceful silence, keeping each other company and sharing the knowledge that while they aren’t going to ever completely recover from this, they’ll keep going, because life doesn’t stop for the grieving and the poor to catch up with the rest of the world. 

They sit and enjoy the weak, late summer breeze nipping at their hair and the relative calm and quiet of the shaded benches secluded from the rest of the prison commotion. They enjoy the simple things in life offering them a small slice of kindness, if just for a little while.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's it! Thanks for reading, guys, please feel free to drop a comment:) Catch me on the flip side on my [tumblr](http://nickymorello.tumblr.com)


End file.
